#nothing but farmland and speed traps | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blahblahwritings · 5 years ago

Text

When It Rains, It Pours.

A/N: Heres to pumping out bad writing to try and resuccitate the writer inside. This didn’t turn out how I wanted it to because the evidence points aren't really explained but whatever its getting late and I'm too tired to care.

Words: 2103.

Warnings: Well its a criminal minds fic so murder mentions, drownings, abuse mentions, kidnapping the usual.

The past few weeks had been exhausting for the BAU team, with back to back cases they rarely had time away. Their current case involved an unsub who was drowning women in their 30s one a day for the past three days. With Spencer by your side, you made your way to the medical examiner to look at the bodies for further analysis.

The abrasions around the victims wrists and ankles showed they had been restrained with rope and struggled against the binds. There were scrapes and scratches on the heels that had pieces of concrete embedded into the skin meaning that they were kept somewhere possibly underground in an old abandoned building or factory or even in someone’s basement. Reid, your husband, continued examining the body of the third, most recent, victim as you read over the reports.

“It says here they were drowned and that their lungs contained traces of common fertilisers and pesticides. So we’re looking at a rogue farmer?” Your eyebrows furrowed slightly in question. You glanced out the window, the rain streaming down the panes of glass just as heavy as it had been the past few days.

“Most likely. Given the geographical profile of where the women were last seen and where their bodies were found there are three hundred and twelve point six square meters of farmland but the problem is pinpointing which area the unsub is working in because the fertilisers are so commonly used.” He replied without breaking focus from the body in front of him. A small smile found its way to your face, his knowledge always impressing you.

“Okay, Sherlock, so what are you thinking?” You asked, putting down the report and moving towards the table. He stood to his full height, turning to you with tired eyes. “That we should call Garcia, I’ll tell her what to search for and hopefully she can give us a lead.” He almost managed to finish his sentence without a yawn. Almost. “Well you can do that in the car, you look drained, I’ll drive.” You kissed his cheek as you took the keys from him, intertwining your fingers and guiding him through the office until you reached the exit.

The team were taking shifts, Reid, Rossi and Kate were asleep in the hotel around the corner from the precinct while Hotch, Morgan, JJ and yourself worked on the case. You had dropped Reid off before driving through the storm to get a round of coffee to bring back to the rest of the team, your own tiredness starting to set deep into your bones. It was 11:30pm and the white noise of rain wasn’t doing anything for your sleepy state but the promise off coffee kept you from turning around and going straight back to the hotel for some much needed Zs.

You parked up outside the first 24hour coffee place you saw, ordering four of the strongest drinks they had. The lights were blinding in comparison to the streetlights outside but you stood, patiently waiting for your order. The only other customers were what looked to be two construction workers in hi-vis jackets, probably form the road works a little while back. They sat at a table in the corner, almost asleep until the guy at the counter shouted their order, causing them to startle awake. A few minutes passed and your order was called. Collecting the cup holder you jogged back to your car, opening the passenger-side door and setting them down on the seat.

As you started to walk to the drivers side, you shot a text to JJ telling her you’d be about five minutes, getting soaked in the process. Rounding the back of the car you bumped into a man, dropping your phone. Alarms sounded in your head, every muscle kicking into action as you took several steps back, a guarded look on your features. He was in his forties, well-built and had at least a foot on you with a face like clay, pushed and pulled and contorted. His boots were covered in mud and his jeans had dirt on the knees. Your phone was behind him. Your gun in the car.

Three strides and he was on you. As you opened your mouth to scream, he covered your mouth with a cloth, the sound muffling and the pungent smell of chloroform filling your nose. You held your breath and tried to fight, flinging elbows and feet behind you in a futile attempt to break free. Your last thought as you started to go limp was Spencer. Then it was dark.

It had been over an hour since JJ received the text from you. After her calls kept going to answer phone, Morgan had left with Hotch to try and find your car, tracking the GPS location of the vehicle to the parking lot you’d been taken in. JJ rang Reid once they had confirmed you were missing with your phone found smashed near your unlocked car. By the time he and the others arrived at the station, Morgan and Hotch had sent the security camera footage to the precinct. Spencer stood staring at the screen, fear manifesting in every fibre of his being as the only image was of your struggle against a man clearly much larger than you then your body drooping as you passed out. His vision blurred, his mind somehow coming to a standstill, unable to move or breathe.

“Spence.. Reid” JJ shook him gently. He didn’t flinch, instead turned slowly to his friend with tears in his eyes, hair messy from his hands running through it over and over. “We’re gonna find her, I promise.” But the words didn’t seem to process in the genius’ mind. Right now, all he could think about was the slim chance that you’d get out of this alive. His jaw clenched, a look of anger took over his usually soft features before he started working on the case again. He wouldn’t let you die like this, he refused. He needed you by his side and he would stop at nothing to ensure your safe return.

The first thing you felt was the sting of your feet being scraped against the floor, then the ache in your arms and shoulders as you realised you were being dragged by the rope binding your wrists down dark, cold hallway. You were still groggy from being drugged and couldn’t bring yourself to fight against the unsub but you tried your best, pulling at the binds. Your kidnapper grunted in response, the attempts not concerning him in the slightest. He picked you up, lying you in something cold and smooth then tying you down so you couldn’t escape. You shook yourself further awake.

“Who are you and why are you doing this.” You mumbled, the words tumbling carelessly from your lips. No response. A calloused hand found its way to your face, his thumb rubbed against your cheekbone and a whimper was heard from beside you. “What’s wrong?” You tried showing sympathy but still got nothing in return. The room was pitch black and you could only make out his silhouette. He stood, walking somewhere out of sight before you heard a door shut and lock. Your head lay back against the hard material behind you, arms hanging above and your legs folded over some kind of edge. You felt anything you could get your hands on and found you were tied to a thin pipe of some sort but nothing really became any clearer.

A loud metallic clang sounded above you and freezing water rained down on you, soaking your already damp clothes. The light from the opening revealed you were lying in a bathtub, hands by the taps and your legs bound so you couldn’t move. You jumped at the sudden drop in temperature. Panic rose in you and you started thrashing around but to no avail. You were trapped. The only spark of hope was that the team would find you. That Spence would find you.

“Okay so I analysed the footage and ran it through different software and it looks as though our unsub is about 6’4” and built like a bull but thats all I can find.” Garcia’s voice rang out through the tinny speakers of the phone.

“Alright babygirl, I’m gonna need you to look for men in their mid thirties to forties who possibly works on a farm or lived on one as a kid.” Morgan began. “Yeah that’s only the entire population of the town you’re in, c’mon I need more than that.” She quipped.

“Crosscheck that with a history of violence against women or a history of abuse during childhood, the victims are a surrogate for a woman in his past possibly a parental figure as they all share similar physical attributes.” Spencer added, his brain spitting out words quicker than Garcia could really process. Rapid typing could be heard on the other end of the phone a moment after.

“Oh good doctor you are brilliant, there are two men who fit the criteria and live in the comfort zone, one being Mr. James Bailor, a 38 year old farmer who has been arrested on three accounts of domestic violence against his wife. He lives on the farm, recently ordered a batch of the same fertiliser found in the victims’ lungs and lived on a farm with his aunt at the age of eight due to abuse from his parents.” She explained before continuing. “The other is Mr. Grant O’Connor, a 43 year old farmer with a long list of felonies consisting almost entirely of beating on women and drug use. His mother died a week ago but he was taken into care at a young age because… oh my god… she tried to drown him in a tub when he was just six years old claiming his birth defects were ‘against god’ and he should be ‘cleansed and sent straight back to hell’.” She finished breathless, their backgrounds clearly upsetting her.

“Thats him. Thats our unsub.” Reid declared, grabbing his gun from the table as he stood. “Whats his address?” He asked, shaking with too many emotions to count. There were two, one being his current home and the other being the farm his mother used to live in. The team leapt into action, speeding off to the latter address.

The water had reached your chin, the shivering long subsided as hypothermia took over your body. You couldn’t remember when you had begun to sob, the hot tears a sharp contrast against the coldness of your skin. “PLEASE.” You wept, hopeless. “Just let me out.” Your voice broke. Exhaustion had washed over your body a long time ago, the lack of sleep, the drugs and the cold all beating you down and preventing you from fighting with any real strength.

The water continued to rise and as it reached your nose you flailed about in the water, managing to get very little air. Then the unsub came in, wrapping his hands around your throat and pushing you down into the water as you fought. A loud siren pierced the noise of the room, startling the unsub but he kept you under. You held your breath for as long as possible but you could only do so much. The door to the room burst open, slamming against the wall, muted voices shouted but your world started to fade, your hearing going too.

A shot rang out and the water turned red. You kicked your legs and felt someone cut the ropes at your wrists free, pulling your top half out of the water. Coughing up the water you’d taken in, you gasped and clawed at the body lifting you out of the water, horrified cries the only thing left to leave your mouth. Two arms wrapped around your torso which you quickly identified as Spencer’s.

“Sh sh shhh. You’re alright, I’ve got you, love, you’re safe.” He cooed, trying to calm you down as well as himself. You curled into him, sobs wracking your body as you gripped onto his shirt. You thought that you’d die here, never to see him again, never to see your friends or family. The horror and anxiety snapped your chest in two, breathing becoming even more difficult as you broke down in his arms.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again, I love you so much, I’m so sorry. It’s okay now. It’s okay.. It’s okay…” His voice broke as he too cried, repeating those two words as you rocked back and forth.

#spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagines

212 notes · View notes

wlwoodnymph · 4 years ago

Text

apocalypse diaries

a little account of living in oregon during the 2020 wildfires/COVID-19 pandemic. mostly under the read more :)

Monday, 9/7

This morning, the sky was blue. Hot, the sun harsh for September, but blue and clear. I went on a walk with my mom, threading through shaded forests, cresting the hilltop with a view of town, and passing by fields rimmed with sweet ripe blackberries on the bush. We saw lots of people -- a perfect late summer day in a perfect little town, where the grand brick buildings of campus and small downtown storefronts are ringed by rolling farmland, a smooth-flowing river, and forested hills that grow into sheltering mountains.

Of course, we walked six feet apart, and hid our noses and mouths behind masks whenever we passed others on the narrow trails. And almost everyone else did too, in a show of courtesy -- it felt perfectly normal. I am still occasionally taken aback when I shy away from others or try to trap my breath or hear an announcement beginning “To stop the spread of the virus...” while grocery shopping. But these things don’t surprise me as much as seeing a photograph of two people unmasked and nearly touching, or watching the neighbors have a birthday party, people and music spilling out of their kitchen and onto the balcony. The connection and celebration I had known my whole life, now completely foreign.

Despite it all, that morning felt perfectly normal. After discussing our birthdays, my classes, and my mom’s anxiety about going backpacking, I returned home and made vegetable soup, watched Prince of Tennis with my roommates, and practiced taking integrals. The afternoon passed quietly, doing calculus at the table, until I glimpsed a sliver of strange sky through the blinded window. I stepped onto the balcony and into another kind of apocalypse.

The most welcome thing about outside was the breeze, making the dry air just bearable after the hot day. The concrete was still warm under my feet, comforting. It seemed the wind had blown in smoke from some fire, far-away until now. The sun, setting and shrouded by the smoke, glowed red and foreboding. The rest of the air was tinted yellow, and if not for the sepia tones, it might have just looked foggy, everything smudged and faded.

Notably, the smoke hadn’t stopped the games of beach volleyball in the park across the street. Quiet shouts and static-y pop music filled the air along with the wind, which rattled the trees’ dry leaves. Someone walked their dog by, pausing to take a picture of the sun. A car started and pulled out of our complex. A leaf scraped across the ground, and the smoke filled my nose.

I stood outside for longer than I needed to, somehow trapped by the warm concrete under my feet and soothing breeze on my arms. The smoke scent was light, and seemed innocuous until I thought about how far away the fires must be -- out in the Cascades, not the little hills that sheltered my town. The wind suddenly seemed a bit less friendly, carrying them closer. I thought about the emergency alert for high heat and winds earlier that day, and (among other things) the big signs along I-5 that discouraged travel during the pandemic, and slipped back inside.

Instead, I raised the blinds, to observe the progress of the red sun and the shrouding smoke and just-green trees buffeted by the wind. I did try to go outside again, to write, but the smoke was thicker, enough to make me cough. I thought about the virus, and watched bits of ash float past, and went back inside. It wasn’t worth the worry of giving myself a sore throat.

So now I’m sitting in my kitchen, and watching it grow unnaturally dark as the clock passes 7:00. The sky is yellower, and the trees and volleyball players have faded, drifting into the thickening smoke. I looked up the air quality a bit ago -- unhealthy for people with sensitive lungs, which is better than I expected. It all feels very strange, but mundane. The volleyball continues even as the sky grows dark. Cottonwood seeds float by with the ash. And I am just watching from a quiet kitchen, with dishes that still need doing. I wonder how long the smoke might last -- I’d love to open my window tonight.

This morning had felt so normal in comparison, even though the smoke is such a small thing in comparison to the shuttered schools and stores, the cancelled concerts, and the rules of six feet and masked faces. But still, I get up and do the dishes, move my laundry to the drier, and watch a movie with my sister (over Zoom, of course). I can hear the wind whistling outside, and the smoke scent begins to seep in even though all the windows are closed. I hope that I don’t wake up smelling smoke and that I can open my window soon. Wishful thinking, and I realize that I barely bother to wonder anymore when I might dare to touch someone I don’t already share air with.

Tuesday, 9/8

I wake up a few times as night fades into morning, mostly from the growing light, but once from the shower starting on the other side of the wall -- my roommate has work at 8:30. My comforter is on the floor, my battery pack and earbuds are in the bed where I discarded them before going to sleep. I am almost too warm under just a sheet, but I curl back into it each time I wake. The whole sky is yellow-orange, as if the sunrise fills all the air, but it’s just smoke shrouding my surroundings. It is alien, this dusty neon sky, but I go back to sleep anyway.

When I get up, the downstairs is dark, one window covered and smoke filtering light out from the rest. It feels like evening, but I make an egg and toast and eat a beautiful nectarine, which reminds me of yesterday morning, a flawless piece of summer. It is hard to think of anything about this summer as flawless. I can see bits of ash flutter by the window, like snowflakes, and I long for last winter.

After breakfast, I water the balcony plants. The smoke scent is strong, sharper than yesterday, and the fires creep closer. There is ash layered in the pots, and on our table and chairs. My bare feet leave prints. I also mist the plants with water, to make the balcony air, dry from the wind, more bearable. Balcony life is ill-suited to most plants, and I wonder if they know where they are, if they know that the salvatory humidity on their leaves is man-made.

I finish as quickly as possible, and return inside, where the air is already too warm (the cool morning outside had been a relief), but clear and clean. I would like to drive to the stormy coast, to go swimming in the cold water of the nearby river, even to cool myself with a mist from the plants’ spray bottle, but I don’t. Instead, I wash my face and brush my teeth and get my calculus workbook and another cup of coffee. I open to the chapter on motion problems and watch a dog-walker drift by with the ash. There is no volleyball today, the air hazardous.

The first part of today passes like yesterday. I finish my calculus and eat yesterday’s soup for lunch. I call our internet provider to complain about our abysmal internet speeds. The call takes 30 minutes, and we get nowhere. She asks about the weather where I am, and I hold back a laugh. I glance out the window, as if to check that the smoke hasn’t up and left and say “Not too bad. We have some smoke blowing in from wildfires though.” I guess it’s not too bad -- I’m safe, at least.

Afterwards, I go up to my room to get something, and wince at the scent of smoke inside. My throat has started to catch, and my roommate’s eyes are watering. We decide to venture out to get sealing tape. It’s nice to do something, and for a moment, this feels like an adventure, a brave expedition into the unknown to protect us and ours. For one of the first times since March, I am present, letting the moment, the heavy smoke sink into my skin. I will remember, but who will I tell about these days? What will still be here, who might still be shocked by it when this is all over?

The feeling of adventure only lasts as long as the Home Depot parking lot, where the smoke chokes thick in my throat and the wind whips ash into our eyes. It is evening, and the sun must be sinking again, because the sky turns from dusty brown to red-orange, far too dark for a summer 6:00. It makes the grass a plastic shade of vibrant green and suddenly, I want nothing more than to be home, out of the smoke. The adventure is gone, and even when we return home, the sickly orange from the windows and bright ceiling light makes me feel melancholy, lonely and lost.

I’m not sure what to do with the feeling, but I know that I need to start taping our doors and windows. I go downstairs, where it is the worst, and as I run tape along the seams of the front door, I feel ash beneath my feet. The flames seem to lick at our walls, and for the first time, I wonder how far the winds will drive the fires. Where would we go, when the rest of the state is already fleeing to us?

I think of March 11th, when my university announced they would go online for most of finals week and the first week of spring term. I remember how we watched other states, other colleges, shutter, and wondered when or if we might do that. I remember March 23rd, when the governor ordered us into our houses to stay, and how we planned grimly for a few weeks’ change. I wonder how long this will last.

Thankfully, we watch Prince of Tennis and read our dumb romance novel, and I forget for a bit -- it is nice to be stuck inside with these people, at least. As the evening winds down, we finish taping windows. We tell our other roommate, who is away, to come in through the garage when he gets home. It’s the only door we don’t tape, the double entrance acting like an airlock. I even carry the balcony plants inside, so we can seal it off. They are dry and ashy, but probably happier to be inside. Even coated in ash, the basil, sage, and tomato still smell like lovely and herby, and it makes me smile.

Wednesday-Friday, 9/9-9/11

The next few days pass like this. We stay inside, and watch the shifts of the sky from orange to yellow to sepia, a strange fog settled over us. We monitor the smell of smoke in the house, how it changes from day-to-day and room-to-room. At least the smoke blocks the sun, and keeps it cool while we can’t open the windows.

I am reading a Money Diary on Friday morning, and the author mentions how “shocking the images coming out of Portland are”. For a moment, I am amused -- Portland has some of the least smoke in Oregon right now. Then I realize she probably means the protests, or the detainment of protestors in unmarked federal vans.

I thought it was a good thing, how little the smoke bothered me. I’m a natural resources major -- I know that forest fires are inevitable. Even though they are unusually bad right now, in part because of climate change, their existence does not alarm me. It is tragic that people are losing their homes, but that is almost inevitable, as long as we build in forests and let fuel grow thick and close to what we love.

But even so, this has never happened before, and in some moments, it hits me. It is scary the fires have stretched so far, that they may continue to be this bad for many years, that we are so ill-equipped, that this happens as people go hungry and are evicted and die from this pandemic. As I typed the words “detainment of protestors in unmarked federal vans.” I wondered if I had become numb. I know this is bad, but it feels so distant, so unreal, so unavoidable. I am almost powerless, so what does it matter if I care? It’s easier to not feel anything, to fixate instead on the hundreds of tiny crises my mind makes of my body and life. I finish my coffee and do my math and try to ignore the pain throbbing in my elbow.

Saturday-Thursday, 9/12-9/17

It was supposed to clear up on Friday. When it didn’t, Tuesday and even Wednesday looked better, the air quality “moderate”. However, it remains “unhealthy”, and I cancel my trips to The Arc and Goodwill, so I can at least meet my mom outside for her birthday. She is struggling with the smoke, but glad to get outside for a bit. Instead of the long hike we had planned, we sit six feet apart on a bench, and I feel like a monster for cringing away from her. The breeze on my skin, though, is a blessing, salvation after a week of the same stale, still air in our house. I want to open my window.

There is rain coming, and wind, and maybe later this week the smoke will clear. We plan for my birthday, assuming that outside, the only safe place to meet our friends, will be safe itself. I imagine pulling all the tape off, and wonder if it will have to go back on. When will we feel safe enough to let the air in? Will I ever shake hands with a stranger again? Will I continue to recoil at the very thought of entering a store without a mask? It feels like being naked.

The rain does come, in drizzles, on Thursday night. It comes with flashes of lightning and rolling purrs of thunder, soothing, while we make pretzels and fondue, and I feel joyous, unhindered for the first time in more than a week. When we finish our cooking, we go outside. It is still smoky, but muted, and the smell is mixed with the delightful scent of a long-needed rain. I grin and hop onto the curb as we walk to the park. We talk and I climb on the play structures (I dropped my bouldering class, even though I miss it fiercely) until the thunder roars too close, and we return inside. It feels like a gift, something I could pray for.

Friday, 9/18

I’m listening to ASMR in bed (it’s after midnight, so technically Friday), and when I take my headphones off to go to sleep, I realize it is pouring. I briefly entertain the idea of going outside, but it doesn’t quite seem worth drying off after. Instead, I lay awake, listening to thunder and rain, and think about what could have been. I am still happy, finally given a good form of novelty.

I wake up that morning and the sky is clear as can be. I grin. As soon as I eat breakfast, I grab my bike to go shopping -- the air quality is “moderate”. I take deep lungfuls, uncaring that the air is public. It smells so good, smoke-free and rain-filled.

The first rain of autumn always feels like a return home. I don’t like the dry grass and merciless heat, especially when I am stuck inside, watching. It feels so strange, to see the exact same yellow-brown leaves littering the ground, feel the same cool damp air on my skin, the same weak, soothing sun. So much has changed, but this is still the same. I think of my middle and high school soccer games, of watching my favorite YouTubers play Undertale with a cup of tea on stormy Saturday nights, of sitting next to my dad’s fireplace with our kittens, of doing homework while my mom’s partner watches football. The season reminds me of home, but I’m not sure that I feel comforted.

I know that I’ve changed, and so has the world. I desperately, desperately, want this place to still feel like home, and maybe it will tomorrow, maybe it will next fall. I also don’t want to think about next fall -- what will have happened by then? What will have happened in five years? I have my hopes, but they feel slim. I hope that I am home and safe, and that I can take a breath without fearing smoke or virus or tear gas. And I am lucky, in the grand scheme of things.

At least I can breathe right now. I bike home from the Arc, and revel in cold rain dripping from my legs when I stop at Fred Meyer, where I get prints of my friends for our living room. At home, I pull off the tape and throw open the windows. Cold, fresh air rushes in, and it feels like life. The sound of pouring rain and thunder is refreshing, after so many days of static. Here, now, maybe not in five minutes, but now, I feel relieved, unweighted, even if just briefly. It will not be a long reprieve, but I am grateful nonetheless.

#me #my writing #writing #oregon #wildfires #covid19 #ig

2 notes · View notes

maluminspace · 5 years ago

Text

Lone Wolf

Genre: Angst/Drama/Fluff

Pairings: Michael Clifford/reader

Word Count: 2882

Requested: by @clffrd for spooky!sos 2019

Trigger Warnings: violence/zombies/apocalypse/fainting/brief references to death

A/N: Effy, this concept ended me! I hope you enjoy this 💖

________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t much, but it was safe. That had been Michael’s view on his little storm shelter since the day he’d claimed it as his own. It’d only been a couple of months post-apocalypse when he’d stumbled across ‘his’ abandoned farmland.

The farm itself had already been destroyed when he’d stumbled across it but the little bunker was all he’d needed anyway. Throughout the year that followed the outbreak, Michael had fashioned the little storm shelter into something resembling a home. He’d filled it with essential supplies and weapons as well as few little comforting touches such as a couple of posters of games and movies he’d used to love.

Michael had always been somewhat of a ‘lone wolf’. He’d become estranged from his family long before the flesh eating disease destroyed the vast majority of humanity. He’d never been that good at making friends either, therefore his lack of human contact since the apocalypse, was nothing new to him.

Much to his dismay; a few months after Michael had claimed his bunker, a little group of survivors had set up camp just a couple of miles away. Their hulking vehicles and sprawling barricades ruined his view of the lake and he hated knowing that a bunch of strangers were so close to him and his little patch of land.

They’d rolled past the farm in their convoy of beaten up old camper vans about six months after the virus had hit. Michael had half hoped they’d all keep going but they’d deemed this particular patch of countryside too good to leave.

He couldn’t blame them really. The clear streams and the huge lake, the sweeping hills and easy access to a bunch of little towns (which were still the best places to find certain types of supplies), all less than a day’s hike away, made this a pretty good place to call home these days.

Despite all of his reservations about the campers, Michael had decided to introduce himself very early on and make sure that they understood his boundaries. To his utter amazement, the other survivors had respected his wishes without hesitation.

He’d been suspicious at the time, that the group were just biding their time - waiting for him to let his guard down so that they could dispose of him. It’d never happened, though. The worst thing they’d ever done is try to invite him into their ranks, which was just about a forgivable offence in Michael’s opinion.

Having lived alongside them for nearly a year, Michael had sort of grown used to their presence. It was almost comforting to look out over their camp sometimes. He also knew that they checked in on him occasionally, which was quite handy if ever there was bad weather or something that could potentially cause something to block the entrance to his bunker - at least he knew he wouldn’t be trapped in there for too long before someone noticed something was amiss.

The only thing that scared Michael now, was how much he was willing to rely on them. He didn’t want to be tied down to them but he was worried he was heading that way.

To prove that he could still survive when he was entirely alone, Michael decided to take a long hike to a little town further afield than the ones he usually went to when he needed supplies. He knew it was a risk; he hadn’t made this particular journey more than a couple of times. Getting lost was a huge possibility and could easily result in a whole bunch of terrifying consequences.

This was something Michael had to do, though. If he was scared of making this journey, he’d already become too dependent on others.

He managed to push back the niggling doubts that he had as he gathered up his supplies. It was important to travel light for this hike because some of the terrain was nothing short of punishing. A heavy backpack would be more of hinderance than anything else.

After packing just a few food items; his large water flask and a single blanket, Michael grabbed his trusted machete and stepped out of his bunker.

The sun was barely peaking over the horizon when Michael stepped outside and locked up his bunker. The lingering chill from the night before meant that he could see his breath in little wisps in front of him, as he went over his mental checklist.

Once he was sure that he was as prepared as he could possibly be, Michael stored his weapon in his belt and set off towards the woods.

***

You’d fought your way out of hundreds of scrapes and killed countless zombies in your bid for survival thus far. You’d never have imagined that you’d ever need rescuing by a complete stranger.

That’s exactly what’d happened though.

You’d been travelling alone for weeks - ever since the group of survivors you’d been with since the outbreak, had been scattered after a huge attack on the camp you’d built together.

Maybe it was loneliness or perhaps it could have been because of malnutrition or dehydration, but whatever the reason, you’d started making silly mistakes. It was one such error that lead to you becoming trapped in the back of one of the thousands of broken down vehicles littering the highway you were wondering down.

You’d always known you should run and not hide from the undead. Fatigue had started to set into every inch of you, though. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to outrun the corpses tonight. Crawling into the back of a rusting van had seemed like your only option. You’d barricaded the doors as best you could with the few items that had been left in the vehicle.

Of course, the heap of useless metal became surrounded within minutes. The unnatural grunting and the terrifying sound of rotting fingers clawing at the outside of the van would be the last things you heard before you were eaten alive. That was the only conceivable outcome of this situation.

You’d basically accepted your fate by the time you heard something that gave you the tiniest hope of survival. The unmistakable sounds of a living, breathing human being fighting the corpses outside the van reached your ears and you felt relieved tears beginning to sting your eyes.

After a few minutes the noises of fighting stopped and heavy footsteps made their way hesitantly towards the van. Despite your relief at being safe from the zombies now, you knew that there were a lot of people that used their new freedom from law and civilised society for evil purposes.

As the door of the van creaked open you cursed yourself again for getting yourself cornered like this. You were in no position or condition to fight, if this person wanted to hurt you, they wouldn’t have a very difficult job on their hands.

Clutching your weapons out of habit more than anything, you fixed your gaze on the dark figure that emerged through the small gap that your barricade would allow the van doors to make.

“Is someone in there?”

The voice sounded kind of rough like it hadn’t been used much in a long time.

“There’s more corpses nearby, I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here.” The man explained, keeping his voice low to avoid detection. “If you’re hurt, I can help you but we can’t stay here for long, unless you want to be a zombie snack.”

Trusting this man seemed like your best hope for survival. You also couldn’t deny the fact that you’d missed human company more than you can say.

You inched closer to the doors, pulling aside your barricade just enough to squeeze out of the van.

In the pale moonlight, the man that had saved you looked like some sort of angel. His pale skin and fluffy sandy hair gave him an air of softness that was the total opposite to the toughness suggested by his heavy boots, bloodstained clothes, machete and the stern expression on his handsome face.

“Can you walk?” He asked, as you staggered out onto the road.

Your head was kind of spinning with a weird mix of exhaustion, relief and adrenaline. Still, it was hard not to take in the details of the scene you were faced with. The broken bodies of the zombies that would have certainly killed you a moment ago, lay motionless at the stranger’s feet.

“Just about.” You replied, unable to take your eyes off of the man in front of you. Thank you for helping I...” you faltered, dizziness overwhelming you for moment.

Before you could fully recover, the mysterious man hooked your arm around his neck as he gripped you steadily around the waist. He set of at a speed that you couldn’t quite match in your weakened state.

You weren’t sure how long you were practically carried by the stranger. The ordeal back at the van had drained the last of your energy and you were struggling to remain conscious.

Vaguely aware that the stranger was comforting you with promises of safety and water, you tried your hardest to stay awake.

You failed.

***

Michael took care of you for two whole days. Supplying you with food, water and protection until your strength started to return to you.

He’d discovered a little abandoned cabin in the woods lining the road he’d found you on. Most of the tiny building had been stripped of useful items but a ragged old sofa and some musty blankets had remained. It wasn’t ideal but it’d been enough to keep you relatively comfortable during in your recovery.

Michael had intended upon helping you find another group as soon as you were strong enough to walk again. He’d always helped people that needed it, human decency was the only thing he really had to offer alongside his skills with a machete. That was where his involvement with other people usually ended, though.

Somehow it felt different with you.

From the moment you’d stumbled out of that rusting van, Michael had seen something in you that he’d never noticed in anyone else.

Having been a loner for pretty much as long as he could remember, it was difficult for Michael to place his feelings for you. All that he knew was, the thought of leaving you hurt.

Between your frequent napping, Michael had learnt a lot about you. Besides the things you’d told him verbally, he was good at reading people. He knew by the way you always kept your weapons close that you were a smart fighter. The way you moved as your strength returned, told him that you were a confident person and the definition in your arm and leg muscles showed a degree of physicality that suggested you’d be tough to beat in a fight.

The thing that Michael found most intriguing about you, though, was the way you opened up to him and treated him with warmth as opposed to the cold, suspicion or indifference he was usually met with.

What he didn’t realise was that your reaction to him was entirely out of character. You’d always been notoriously hard to get along with and since the apocalypse, you’d become dangerously suspicious of everyone... Everyone except the pretty green eyed man that had saved your life.

As your third day together dawned, Michael found himself struggling to accept that it was time to start heading back. He knew he had to find you somewhere safe to live, but for the first time in his entire life, the thought of being alone again wasn’t so appealing.

As much as he’d hate to admit it, Michael was enjoying your company. He’d already told you things that he’d never planned on sharing out loud with anyone, let alone someone he’d known for such a short space of time. There was plenty more he wished to discuss with you, too.

“So today’s the day we start moving, huh?” You asked, a nervous tone creeping into your voice. “I bet you’re excited to get rid of me so you can head home, huh?”

Michael wanted to laugh it off but he couldn’t deny the sadness that spread through him at the very thought of not having you around anymore. It was odd to him; feeling so much for someone, especially someone who was still pretty much a stranger to him.

His many conflicting feelings prevented Michael from responding to you. Pretending not to hear you seemed preferable to whatever his answer would be.

When he remained silent, your heart sank a little as you assumed it was his way of confirming your suggestion. You scrambled to your feet and slid your knife into your belt before picking up your trusted baseball bat from the floor near the sofa. “I’m good to go on alone, if you’re that eager to be by yourself again.” You said, a note of steeliness in your tone that betrayed how hurt you felt by the fact he didn’t care for you as much as you’d hoped.

Michael’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, his expression almost frightened. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you travel alone yet.” He replied finally. “I’d rather we stayed together for a bit longer, until you’re back at full strength.”

“Thanks for taking care of me, but I don’t want to be a burden to you anymore.” You explained, that hurt tone in your voice refusing to disappear fully.

“You’re not a burden!” Michael replied, scrambling to his feet before stepping closer to you. “I promised to keep you safe and I won’t feel like I’ve fulfilled that until you’ve found a new home. You just don’t strike me as a wonderer.”

Despite the obvious effort Michael put into choosing words that suggested he was doing this out of a sense of duty, you noticed the hint of sadness in his pretty green eyes and the way his fingers twitched nervously as though he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I think I could survive on my own.” You argue lightly, the doubt that Michael didn’t care for you in some way, dwindling by the second. “Maybe you’ve inspired me... maybe I could be a lone wolf, just like you.”

You’d meant it as a joke, not expecting to deepen the sadness in Michael’s eyes to an almost heartbreaking capacity. He tried to hide it but failed miserably as tears started to threaten to fall down his cheeks.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” He sniffed, trying to hide his emotion by tilting his face downwards, allowing his long fringe to shield his eyes from you. “I think you’d be better off within a group.”

Against your better judgement, you stepped closer to Michael, reaching up to cradle his cheek gently. There’s a moment of eye contact, so charged with different emotions, that they threatened to overwhelm you. Having an attraction towards someone was a luxury you’d thought had died along aside everything else when the world had ended. It seemed dangerous and almost unnatural to crave someone the way you were starting to crave Michael. “You can admit it if you want me to stay with you, Michael. I’m quite a catch, not bad at fighting either.” You aimed for a humorous tone, giving yourself an out if Michael hated the thought of being with you for longer than he had to be.

Some of the tension leaked out of Michael’s face as he pressed his cheek into your hold, his eyelids sliding shut gently. “You can do better than me.” He replied quietly. “I’m not good with people... I only know how to take care of myself.”

You let out a soft chuckle before placing a lingering kiss to his jaw. “You’ve taken care of me.” You argued. “I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for you.”

Michael opened his eyes to meet your gaze and there was a split second that you thought he might kiss you but he seemed to second guess himself as his cheeks filled with colour and he took a step away from you. “I have a feeling you’d have found a way out.” He smiled awkwardly. “You seem like the type of person that the world can’t do without these days.”

The simple compliment filled your heart with joy as a smile curled your lips. “You mentioned the little group of survivors that live close to you.” You offer brightly, “do you think they’d take me in?”

Michael shrugged but there was a hopeful glint in his eyes. “I don’t see why not.”

“That’d be the perfect solution, wouldn’t it?” You asked, smirking a tiny bit. “I could come and visit you whenever you wanted...”

“I’d like that.” Michael replied with a genuine smile. “I think it’s about time I started welcoming guests to my little bunker.”

You pouted as you took his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “Not too many guests, I hope... I’d kinda like you to myself sometimes.”

He squeezed your fingers gently to show that he was happy with contact but didn’t acknowledge it in any other way. That didn’t matter, though, it felt right and Michael seemed to agree, that’s all that mattered.

Send Laura a request

Send Jex a request

Tag list: @clffrd @byxthexway @afuckingunicornn @lukesahoy @thrillchaser @moonchildsblack @calumbbyyy @h0tsos @valentinelrh @sexgodashton @megz1985 @stonedahlia @myfalsedevotion @aulxna @honeyedlashton @tea4sykes

50 notes · View notes

funkymeihem-fiction · 6 years ago

Text

Strange Honey- Rewrite Chapter 1

“Winifred, I know you’re out there! You’re a bad girl! You know you’re being bad and you just keep doing it! You’re going to end up getting stung and then I’m not going to feel sorry for you! …Well, maybe a little sorry…But you are in so much trouble!” She slammed the door and thundered down the rickety steps to the back porch, irritation in every step.

Mei hadn’t had time to put on all her beekeeping gear when she’d seen the familiar pink and brown-spotted streak go hurtling past her view from the duct-taped mesh of the screen door. Once she knew the pesky pig had made yet another break for it, she’d thrown on whatever was nearby and had gone after her. But a plastic poncho and a net helmet offered little protection from the little stingers and their owners, and the bees were buzzing about in clouds nearly as thick as the wet summer air.

At least Winifred was smart enough to give the hives themselves a wide berth. The young sow gave a sniff in their direction, but thought better of it and took off in the other direction. Mei was hot on her heels and wielding a net in both hands. She had no idea if the net would be helpful in capturing an escaped pig or not, but it was better than nothing. And Winifred seemed to think it was all great fun, speeding up into a trotting gallop as she led the disgruntled student on yet another merry chase; past the hives and the little back gardens, past the animal pens, and out towards the wider fields themselves.

At least the bees were ignoring them both for now. She occasionally felt one bump into her poncho or the helmet’s netting, but they were more intent on maintaining their airborne journeys for now, on their way to or from the surrounding crops and flowers. And Winifred, darn her hide, seemed to be enjoying herself more than she should have. The young pig would even turn back to look at Mei when she slowed down, only to kick back into a run the moment she got near. It was a all a game to her.

Mei did not think it nearly so amusing. Not again.

She’d taken on this job as an assistant beekeeper not for the pay, but for her studies. Her graduate degree was riding on the paper she was writing, on the effects of climate adaptation in bees and pollination of the local agriculture. Taking a job in the field (literally, in the field) was a vital part of her studies and her reputation as a researcher. And in her naivety, she had thought maybe that a summer in the countryside would be relaxing.

Unfortunately for her, she had chosen a farm with famously temperamental and difficult bees, and an even more temperamental and difficult owner. The free room and board was barely worth it, and even if the honey on her breakfast toast was amazingly delicious, she had the distinct feeling she was being taken advantage of. Mr. Rutledge had put her to work doing the most unpleasant, grungiest chores that didn’t even further her studies, and in her first week she had already had several stings while she was still figuring out the finer points of the suit.

Chasing after escaped pigs definitely hadn’t been on her sign-up list. But now Mr. Rutledge was off at the store, and the very first time she’d been left in charge of things here, Winifred had decided to make things hard for her. Mei preferred the bees, frankly. At least they just wanted to get their jobs done, just like her. But Winifred was one of Mr. Rutledge’s favorites, and Mei wasn’t about to let the little cretin run loose and risk Mr. Rutledge thinking that she wasn’t a responsible person.

She tried cajoling, lowering her net and opening both arms as she approached the errant sow. “Heeeere, girl. Come here, come here. Don’t you want to go back to all your brothers and sisters? I bet they miss you? No! Noooo…” She lifted her voice as Winifred grunted and sniffed, turning towards a row of squash nearby. “No! Don’t you eat that! You bad girl, don’t you dare! NO!”

Winifred promptly nosed her snout into the yellow dirt and fastened her jaws around one of the vegetables, ripping it up out of the ground and carrying it away as she took off yet again. Mei made a dash for her, swinging her net and missing by a mile. The cloven-hoofed menace left a wake of destruction behind her, taking them further and further out into the reaches of the farmland.

Huffing and puffing behind her netted hat, the plastic poncho did Mei no favors as it trapped in her body heat in the already-stifling air. She was sweating up a storm, unable to wipe away the moisture pouring from her dusty face as she remained in hot pursuit. Down the dirt roads, across a pasture, and through two fields of soy and corn, she followed them. Pushing through rows and rows of green stalks and leaves, she finally shot free of the cornfield, and stumbled into a field that was choked with wild sweetgrass and weed blooms. Past a single stunted old tree out among the grass, a row of green and yellow rose up.

It was a wall of overgrown sunflowers.

This was a field she had never seen before, far beyond the reaches of her tour of the farm. Was this the same property? Did the farm even grow sunflowers? She wasn’t entirely sure. They were giant things, tall green stalks growing so close together they resembled a tangled forest, each one topped with a cheerful, dazzling yellow and brown bloom. And they were so tall and large, she felt almost sure they must have been some species she hadn’t heard of, maybe even bio-engineered. She wasn’t really a tall girl to begin with, no, but these sunflowers towered over her like she had never seen. It was a solid barrier of overgrown green and yellow that would be nearly impossible to pass through.

And…where had Winifred gone?

She found a half-eaten squash at the edge of the sweetgrass, but it was well up past her knees and the pig could have headed in any direction. And unfortunately for her, hog tracking hadn’t been one of her studies. And not only that, but the field was thick with bees. The sweetgrass and wildflowers were causing a frenzy, and Mei didn’t want to disturb them while she was wearing such little protection. But she did see how the grass was bent down in some places, and over the shrieking of cicadas and the buzzing of bees, she thought she could hear a faint grunting sound.

There was nothing for it. She had to get that pig back before Mr. Rutledge got home.

Very, very carefully, Mei stepped into the field. Picking her way through the little trail of bent grass, she tried to stay light on her feet. The edges of her plastic poncho breezed the tops of the field, and the insects hummed around her. Occasionally she heard the thicker and heavier buzz of a hornet or wasp too, their distinctive tones hurrying by her as they hurried to pollinate the flowers too.

“Ow!”

There was a prickle of pain on one of her legs. Something hadn’t taken kindly to the intrusion and had stung her. She looked down, hand lifted to brush it away, but there was only a red spot already starting to swell. Wincing, she bit her teeth into her lip and continued forward. She could put ointment on it later. Along with all the other—

“Owch!” Another sting, and this time she saw the stinger still lodged in the side of her calf, from the honeybee that had given its life just to poke her a bit. “Please don’t, I’m just trying to pass through, please!”

Pleading didn’t work so well with bugs. But then again, wading thigh-deep into a field full of stinging insects probably hadn’t been the best idea. Only when she heard a familiar grunt-grunt-grunting nearby, she realized she had at least narrowed in on Winifred. Maybe she could at least get her in the net and drag her out of here before any more damage was done.

Winifred was chowing down on the rest of the stolen squash, grumbling and chewing noisily. So intent on her meal, that she didn’t even notice Mei coming up behind her. The shadow figure loomed up with its net raised high, and only then did Winifred’s ears shoot upward as she shot up off her haunches and ran forward with a panicked “REEEEEE! REEEEEEEEEE!”

“Darn you, Winifred! Ow! Ow, get back here!”

Mei chased after the pig, trying to ignore more stings that came her way as Winifred trampled more grass and disturbed the pollinators at their jobs. The buzzing grew louder. Mei swing her net again and missed, and the pig jolted to the side and ran blindly towards the sunflowers, squealing all the while. Mei was forced to give chase, and the two sent up a trail of angry bees as they went.

Suddenly Winifred’s squeal became a shriek, and Mei saw that the pig was trying to hit the brakes. Her hooves scrambled in the grass, kicking up dirt as she reeled to a stop just before she would have entered the tangle of sunflowers ahead. The little sow stood there for a moment, back bowed almost into a sit as she stared into the wild green and black ahead of her. Mei lifted her net again—

Something moved in the flowers ahead. The stalks shifted and clattered somewhere deeper within, like something was moving amongst them. Blinking, Mei forgot the pig altogether and twisted her hold on her net, holding it like a shield in front of her as she staggered a few steps back. It moved again, making its way through the shadowy stalks. An animal of some kind, no doubt, but what? Dog? Cat? Deer?

Winifred uttered a noise that was almost a scream, suddenly taking off again as she ran right between Mei’s legs and off into the opposite direction, squealing rapidly growing rapidly fainter. The rattling ceased abruptly as she fled, the unseen creature freezing. Maybe it had just taken notice of Mei and was as scared of her as she was of it? It seemed to have paused, but she had the distinct feeling that she was being watched. The hair on the back of her sweaty neck prickled all at once.

“H-hello?” she asked aloud, tilting her head. What could it have been that had scared Winifred so much? She quickly pulled her poncho on over her shoulders, slamming her hat more firmly onto her head. No matter how hot it was, if she needed to run away-

There was a strange little noise from the sunflowers up ahead, as the leaves started rattling all over the field despite there being no wind. Mei took another step back, eyebrows shooting upward, and was almost ready to book it back in the other direction when there was another sound…a buzzing sound.

She looked behind her and saw that the disturbed bees and wasps had lifted into the air, angrily droning all together. They faced her down, but were acting…strangely? They all hung there in the air, hovering and staying in one position— as if waiting for some signal. She’d never seen an insect wait before, but that’s what they were doing. Waiting…To attack her?

Mei nearly dropped her net, turning her back to the flowers and facing the cloud of angry buzzing. Taking a step or two back, she lifted both hands in a defensive surrender. Her glasses slid crooked on the sweat pouring from her face, but she could swear that she saw a shadow of movement behind her. And she couldn’t look; because in front of her, the insects all moved forward towards her in one dark furious cloud—

“I’m sorry!”

Mei made herself very small, cowering down in a hunch that she knew wouldn’t protect her if she got swarmed. She didn’t even know what she was apologizing to, or why begging would help. But it was instinctive and she simply didn’t know what else to do.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”

The buzzing continued in front of her, but when she peeked open one eye, she could see that the little blurred forms had all stopped again. They hovered there again, and then began to drift backward. One by one, they retreated, and zoomed off into the wildflowers and sweetgrass once more.

Baffled and alarmed, she turned to look into the sunflowers. But whatever shadow she thought she had seen was gone, or simply had never been. But that eerie prickling feeling was still tickling at the nape of her neck, and to say she was uneasy was an understatement. She awkwardly straightened her glasses through her netting, sweat dribbling down her body from heat and fear.

She shouldn’t stay here…

The field of sweetgrass lay open before her, the bees parted into two groups on either side. A clear path lay between them, giving her a chance to go. And she took it. Grasping her net in shaking hands, she clutched it like a spear as she warily stepped back through the overgrowth, heading back towards the relative safety of the farm and away from the sunflowers. The bees closed ranks behind her as she went, urging her on.

The cicadas kept screaming and somewhere far away, a crow started calling. But the bees were no longer angrily droning, only peacefully buzzing about the field as if nothing had been amiss in the first place. She stopped only when she got to the edge of the growth line, to the little strip that separated the wildflowers and grass from the more cultivated crops of soybeans. Looking back, she saw the sunflowers standing tall in the distance.

The blooms stood bright and cheery in the afternoon sun, just like before. Nothing seemed amiss, except for what looked like a speck of color out in the middle of the yellow? Were those clothes? A quick squint, and she could make out the ragged-looking old scarecrow that stood hanging from its pole out in the middle of the blooms. Strange…She must have simply missed seeing it out there before, with the flowers being so tall.

No time to worry about such things now. She’d never heard of bees acting the way that those bees had acted. She’d never read about insects having…self control? Why had they changed their minds about attacking her? What an awfully strange and confusing thing to happen. Wherever Winifred had led her, it certainly had—

She’d completely forgotten that she was still pig-less. Her chase had been most unsuccessful, and she still had an errant sow to hunt down. With one last, unsure glance back towards the sunflowers, she bolted back towards the fields and to the dirt road that would take her back to the farm.

Mei had gone so far away that she hadn’t even heard Mr. Rutledge’s truck rattle its way home. By the time she reached the borders of the yard, it was sitting in the drive. He and the truck were cast into the massive afternoon shadow of the crooked old farmhouse, and he was unloading bags of groceries onto the front porch. And to her irritation and embarrassment, Winifred was already there too. The little pig grunted and wiggled and was repeatedly getting under his feet, trying to stick her greedy head into the produce bags.

“Oh…Mr. Rutledge!” Mei bashfully made her way up from the side yard, pulling off her poncho and hat in a rather guilty way. “Welcome back. I’m really sorry about Wini, she—”

“Mm. She does that. Tried to chase her?” Mr. Rutledge’s baritone voice rumbled from somewhere under his hat, as he pulled Winifred out of a bag of cabbages and hefted her up under one arm despite her protests. “Go inside and put something on those. You’ll get used to them.”

“Put what on what?” she echoed, before looking down to see that her pale legs were marred with little red swollen marks from fresh stings, swollen into little welts. “Oh. Okay. Don’t you need help with the bags?”

“I’ve got them.”

She just nodded, feeling strangely chastised for her failure. Leaving the naughty pig to her owner, Mei creaked open the front screen door and headed into the cooler interior of the house. Heading to the downstairs bathroom, she found the twisted tube of ointment and sat down atop the toilet to begin rubbing it into her bee stings.

Her legs had taken a few shots, but it had almost been worse. A lot worse. What had that been all about, anyway?

Maybe Mr. Rutledge knew. It was his farm, after all, and his bees. And if his bees acted in such a strange way, there might be more to this research paper than she had first thought.

***

She decided to bring it up at dinner.

“Mr. Rutledge, can I ask you something?”

She always tried to be polite around Mr. Rutledge. Not just because of her good manners, but because she knew he was a particular man who simply disliked being disturbed. The man lived alone, worked alone, and ran his business alone, and that was how he said he preferred things. He spoke little, usually only to tell her to do things; and beyond seeing him at meals in the morning and evening, and occasionally watching television or doing a puzzle together, they rarely talked casually.

“Hm?” He paused, cup of coffee halfway raised to his scarred lips. That was the most usually saw of of him; was his lips, and perhaps the bottom of his nose, if she was lucky. He was almost always wearing his own beekeeping helmet, or a low hat, and kept his head down. Locks of stringy gray hair hung from his hat now, obscuring his eyes, but she knew he was looking her way.

The very last of the dying orange sunlight streamed in through the old glass panes of his kitchen windows. They sat across from each other at his table, with its charming red-and-white checkered patterned tablecloth, and the cute piggy-themed salt and pepper shakers, sitting next to the piggy-themed flower vase filled with fresh lavender, which was next to the piggy-themed coffee mugs still steaming with brew. She’d never been much for evening coffee, but Mr. Rutledge drank it often. But it never seemed to help much. The man always seemed so tired.

He’d made an attempt at cooking for them, but he had admitted to knowing only a bare few dishes and not all of them were very good. So he had made them pancakes for dinner, again. Pancakes, eggs, and fruit; all with fresh honey. There was always honey. The last few bites of her pancake were soaked through with the stuff, sitting sweet on her tongue as she finished them off.

“Your farm is pretty big, isn’t it? Do you own all the land around here?” she asked.

“…Mm.”

“So you own the big fields with the corn and soy and the pumpkins, those are all yours? Right?”

“Mm.”

“What about the big field of sunflowers? The one way off to the…east, I think it was? Northeast, maybe?”

He paused at that, and slowly lowered his cup of coffee back to the table without taking a sip. “Sunflowers…”

“Mmhm. It is east, isn’t it? There’s a big field full of sunflowers, with a-”

“What were you doing out that far?”

She blinked, fumbling with her glasses a moment. “I…got a little lost when I was chasing Winifred,” she said, which wasn’t a lie. But something about his reactions made her feel suddenly more guarded. “Are those your fields too?”

“There’s nothing out that far,” he responded gruffly. “No need to be out there. Don’t go out that way again, understand?”

“But I thought I saw something?”

His head turned very slightly, but very sharply. “…What did you see.”

It wasn’t a question, but dangerously close to a calm demand. His eyes were upon her, and she suddenly felt cornered. Bringing her coffee cup up in front of her mouth for a moment, she mumbled from behind it. “I mean…I didn’t see it. But I heard something big. There was some sort of animal, I think? It really scared Winnie. So we both ran.”

Should she have told him about the bees? Had he ever heard of patient bees, before? Or the way those insects acted around those flowers? Something about his sudden tension made her think twice.

He turned slowly back to his coffee. “Could have been anything. Could have been something…dangerous. And you would have been out there by yourself. Don’t need you getting hurt and your school coming after me. Don’t go out that far again.”

Her brows knitted a little and there was a strange little pang of disappointment. His words made complete sense, of course. It was a long way out there and she had no business going out so far by herself. If something had happened, she would have been completely alone. It was just common sense, really. But still he seemed a little…terse, about the subject, and she could not help but wonder why. But it was not her farm, and not her place to wonder such things. So she just nodded, and went to sip at the last of her coffee, instead.

“Okay.”

“Finish your dinner and I’ll show you how to repair the holes in the mesh before tomorrow. You’ve had enough stings for today.”

She looked down at where her legs were still a little swollen and bore red welts. Going into that field, near those sunflowers, had been a really bad idea. Her leg poor legs were proof of that. Although, something had kept them from stinging her even more. And she couldn’t help but wonder what.

***

She was left wondering for nearly a week before Mr. Rutledge needed to leave the farm again, for more feed and some medicine for a goat with a cough. Mei stood out on the front porch, waving to him as the old rattling truck turned the last bend in the road and went out of sight. And after a few more moments, just to make sure he wasn’t coming back or forgetting anything, she bolted back into the house. Clattering up the stairs, she paused only to grab her backpack; shoving her notebooks, entomologist case, her pencils, and a lunchbox into it, pulling it across her shoulders before pushing open the back screen door and running out.

This time, she made sure she was wearing pants. And she’d double-checked that Winifred was still in her pen and wouldn’t lead her into danger again. Her poor legs still bore enough band-aids from her first stings, and she did not intend to repeat her mistake.

The summer cicadas were drowning the world with their song, a constant rattling drone to accompany a hot, muggy, yellow afternoon. They had made it hard to sleep at first, but she had learned to ignore them. And their singing covered the sound of her feet as she dashed across the farm, passing by the uninterested goats and chickens, and swerving on her path to give the active beehives a wide berth. Across the pasture she went; through the fields, into the corn, out the other side, and down the dirt roads past the soy beans, until she came to the same field of sweetgrass and the sunflowers beyond it.

Out in the rows of sunflowers, she saw the ragged old scarecrow, hanging up and out above the sea of yellow. It was a little too far away to get a very good look at it, but it looked a little…off, somehow. Most of the scarecrows she had seen were little more than old clothes and burlap sacks with a smiley-face drawn on them, only vaguely resembling a human, just enough to scare the birds. This one looked almost like a human that had been strung up and left to hang on a pole, even slumping with its head down. What an odd choice for someone to make…

There were fewer bees than there had been earlier that week. It seemed that they had exhausted the blooms there, and only a few latecomers were buzzing amongst the little field, poking themselves into stray flowers to see if there was anything left. Mei decided to give them space, traveling around the very edge of the field and cutting a cautious path until she could head to the shade from the tree in the little clearing in the center. This spot seemed devoid of any angry stingers, and gave her a good view of the sunflowers.

Hesitantly, she pulled off her pack and opened it up, pulling out a blanket and spreading it amongst the grass. Tossing her lunchbox and her other supplies onto it not long after, she sat down and opened it up, pulling out her sandwich and her cucumber salad and settling down for a nice late lunch. The vegetables from Mr. Rutledge’s gardens and the local farmers’ markets were second to none, and she intended to enjoy the fresh produce while she could.

She paused mid-chew when she thought she heard something crackling amongst the flowers. But when she stopped and listened, there was nothing amiss, and there wasn’t that prickling feeling of menace that she had felt before. And the remaining bees were still going about their important business and ignoring her. The flowers rustled again. Probably just the breeze.

For a while she just sat there on her blanket amongst the field of sweetgrass, with the sun on her face and listening to the cicadas and birds serenading her meal. It was little moments like these that made all the hard work worth it, really; fresh air, fresh food, fresh honey, everything out here made her stop and appreciate the little things. Maybe once she finished her degree on agriculture, she’d buy a farm just like this one… But she had work to do, first.

Her first task was to just get a few samples and head back to properly preserve them. She needed a few cuttings from the flowers, and some live insects to monitor. Maybe she could send one of these clearly bio-engineered blooms to someone in her department and find out what this was all about? Maybe Mr. Rutledge used some kind of pesticide that was causing errant behavior? Perhaps it wasn’t just pollenators like the bees that were affected, but other insects too? Or perhaps there was some sort of divergent species from these very old hives with undocumented behavior patterns? Her professors were bound to impressed, if so!

Wiping away the remnants of her salad and brushing the crumbs away from her lap, she stood. She pulled out a few jars and a pair of tweezers, adjusting her glasses before approaching the wall of sunflower stalks. The bees had behaved so oddly, specifically around these flowers, and she had not been able to stop wondering why. Perhaps there were other insects here that she could study, and see if their behaviors were similarly abnormal? She wasn’t an expert in entomology per se, but she could at least get some spceimens for those who were.

Approaching the sunflowers, she leaned towards the rows of stalks and began picking at the leaves; turning them upside down, pulling them away from the main plant, checking every nook and crevice on them. No sign of insect activity at all, not even a stray aphid. There was nothing to take samples from. Leaning down towards the dirt, she checked for anything crawling there. Again, nothing. Not a single bug to be found.

Her brows knitted, squinting in a baffled sort of way behind her glasses. Things were becomings stranger and stranger, it seemed. But, just to be sure, she reached up, standing on her tippy-toes, and pulling down one of the sunflower stalks until it bent down to her level. The porous brown florets at the center, filled with seeds, had nothing crawling on it. The cheerful yellow petals didn’t have a single ant hiding In them. Nothing. Everything was so normal, it was completely abnormal, yet again.

Well, that was…strange. She’d have to write that down. Maybe she’d just take a few seed samples, instead, and she could—

But once she tried to pull too hard on that sunflower, the noises started again: like she had pulled on the thread of a spider’s web, and something had felt it from deeper in. There came another rustle from amongst the stalks, something clattering deep amongst the greenery just like before. Her eyes darted quickly, and she released the flower to let it spring back up, the movement causing a little ripple through the rest of the sunflower field. Whatever was moving around in there, stopped. Was it that ‘animal’ again? Or something else?

“Hello? Hello, is anybody there?” she asked aloud, tilting her head and putting her hands on her knees to peer into the inscrutable mass of stems and leaves.

No answer.

“Mr. Rutledge?” she tried, even though she knew it wasn’t him. “Or… Winifred! Is that you, girl? Did you get out again? Are you being a very bad pig?”

If it was Winifred, she was being strangely quiet and sneaky. Or maybe it was some wild animal, just like Mr. Rutledge had warned her about, one of the reasons she shouldn’t have been out here. That thought made her a little nervous. Of course, she didn’t think there was anything particularly dangerous around the area…no bears or cougars or wolves or such things. But even if it was ‘just’ a nasty feral dog, she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of anything with claws or teeth. She’d rather face the bees, any day.

That feeling was back. She needed to leave. But she didn’t want to leave without her samples.

She reached out with both hands, grasping onto one of the stalks, and started pulling. Just one flower. If she could only take one weird, giant, insect-impervious, possibly magical flower, this might be the start of something big…Although, oof, that might be harder than first thought. She twisted and pulled, trying to wrench off one of the giant blooms, but it wasn’t making it easy. No matter how she tugged and turned, it didn’t want to come off. She even dug her fingernails into it, trying to sever some of the fibers, clawing until green chlorophyll started leaking down her fingers, and it started to give way, just enough to-

“HHhhrrhh!”

There was a horrible noise, something she’d never heard before.

Again, the presence moved amongst the sunflowers, the blooms and leaves rattling noisily as it suddenly headed straight for her. Eyes widening, she dug into the dirt and pulled back with her entire body weight, one last ditch effort to pull up the flower before she could turn to run, just one bloom. She felt it start to give way, but then she saw the stalks parting in front of her, and then two of the sunflower blooms turned towards her…only they weren’t flowers, but glowing yellow circles, like eyes. She started to scream, and then the flower came loose in her hands just as the animal or person or monster or whatever it was, leapt towards her.

***

She must have hit the ground, because that was where she woke up. Maybe her feet had gone out from under her when she’d pulled the bloom loose, and she had hit her head? That might have made sense…if she hadn’t been laying on her picnic blanket, yards away from where the sunflowers were. But there she was, with the cicadas still churring away, and the birds were still singing and the sun was still shining, and for a moment she wondered if she had fallen asleep during her lunch and dreamed of everything that came after. But the tips of fingers tingled, and when she looked, there was still green under her fingernails. And laying on the blanket next to her, was the severed bloom…or was it? The sunflower she had picked earlier was now a withered and black lump of desiccated rot, and ants were starting to swarm around it, and on her.

“Uuuhgh!” With a shriek, she bolted to her feet and began brushing urgently at her legs, sending them scattering. A little kick sent the rotten flower flying, and she went about fluffing the blanket to fling off the remainder of the ants. Disgusting! What on earth?!

Even as she struggled with the remnants of her picnic, her eyes were drawn back to the field, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise upward. She felt like she was being watched again, but it felt stronger this time, and closer. Maybe it had something to do with those eyes she had seen before…or had she actually seen anything at all, and was just spooking herself with her own imagination? She’d never had much in the ways of a very wild imagination, but maybe being out here alone was messing with her more than she’d thought?

“Is there someone out there? If there’s someone there, it’s not funny anymore!” She peered around her, vision still wavering a little. “Hello? Is this someone else’s land? If so…I’m really sorry! I’m from the next farm over and I didn’t mean any harm. Really, is someone there?”

The wind rustled the flowers again, but that was her only response.

So much for getting one of the blooms. How had that one rotted so fast, anyway? Should she try again…?

Something deep in her gut told her that was a bad idea.

She rubbed at her temples, and realized her glasses were missing. It wasn’t just her alarm causing the blurriness around her. With a little curse, she returned to her blanket and started searching. Her vision wasn’t the best without them, and everything was a little fuzzy as she reached out with both hands, patting around to see if she could feel them. There was no sign of them, and though she walked around the sweetgrass field and even searched by the flowers as close as she dared, she couldn’t find them. Great. She had no insect samples, no flowers, and she’d scared herself into losing her glasses. More money down the drain. And for the rest of the summer she’d have to rely on her broken back-up pair back at the farm, with the tape on the nose.

In a very foul mood now, especially as she brushed away a few stray ants that had clung to her pants, she began folding up her blanket and gathering up the remnants of her ill-fated picnic. The sun was starting to get a bit low in the sky, and she had to make it back before Mr. Rutledge returned to the farm. He’d been right about this place. Whatever these weird sunflowers were- She glanced up at them, and then recoiled slightly when she noticed something.

Even without her glasses, she noticed it. The scarecrow from earlier was gone, missing from his perch where he had been hanging out in the middle of the patch. Had it fallen down or…been moved somewhere else? No, that would be a silly thought. She was just scaring herself again, that was all. That weirdly human-proportioned scarecrow was just suddenly gone from its perch and that had nothing to do with the weird noises and movements she had heard, and how she’d been conked out and moved without her knowledge, and-

That bad feeling was back, and getting stronger now. Her neck hair was prickling and she wrapped both arms around herself, brows knitting as she backed away.

“I-I’m…I’m sorry? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m going to go now, okay?”

She looked back to the sunflower patch one last time, squinting to where the green stalks grew so thick they were almost black. And somewhere in the darkness there, she thought she saw a faint yellow light turn towards her. Her blood went cold, and she leaned to grab her backpack, zipping it shut before she turned and outright ran, hopping over the rotten black sunflower bloom as she waded into the field of soybeans and fled back towards the safety of the farm.

He watched her go.

***

She spent an uneasy night filled with bad dreams that she couldn’t really remember. She had dreamed of a buzzing in both her ears and light burning her eyelids, but those were easily explained away. The hum of the fan must have become the hum of phantom insects, and the light was the dawn promising another hot day. The prickling she’d felt over her body? Probably the fading itch from the bee stings. And the fingers she’d felt on her clammy forehead? Those were from… Well, dreams were just strange things, sometimes.

Pulling her sweating body from beneath the covers, she dragged herself into the bathroom, thrusting her tape-glasses askew onto her face. There was a little mark of dirt on her cheek. Had she missed it when she’d washed her face last night? She really had been out of sorts. Scrubbing it away, she rinsed out her mouth and spat into the aged porcelain, dragging on her clothes.

With the sun barely peeking over the treeline, she joined Mr. Rutledge at the breakfast table, pouring more honey than usual into her oatmeal. For once, she didn’t even try to make conversation with the man as he read his morning news, and her uncharacteristic silence actually seemed to unnerve the man a little. She just sat there, with nothing but the occasional clink of her spoon in her bowl, until he finally looked up at her with a low rumble.

“You feeling all right?”

“Hm?” She answered dully, gaze still far off behind her spare taped-together lenses. “Oh. No, I’m fine. Just a long night, couldn’t sleep.”

He turned the page in his newspaper. “Can you work?”

“I’m fine. Honestly.”

“Mm. Take it easy today. Finish your breakfast. Then you go inspect the hives while I feed the chickens and see to the pigs. Still don’t know how Winifred keeps getting out…”

She nodded with a little yawn, and went to dump her bowl into the sink for later. Plodding out towards the backroom, she began suiting up, pulling on the thick white armor and stitched mesh hat that would protect her from their stings. Yawning and stretching again as she gathered up her smoke canisters and clipboard, she opened the back door…and paused abruptly, mid-step.

There, on the little cracked concrete square at the bottom of the wooden steps, were her lost glasses. The big round wireframes were still intact, and the lenses caught the morning light and practically glowed where they had been sat conspicuously in the center of the square…surrounded by a circle of scattered, bright yellow petals.

Her heart seized and then started trying to come up out of her throat, and she had to swallow hard to keep it down. “Keep calm, Mei, keep calm…it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine…” Very, very cautiously, she approached the circle. Nothing about the glasses seemed amiss, and when she brought one thick gloved hand to poke at them (just to see if they were really there), nothing happened. Completely dumbfounded, she stood staring down at them, coughing a little before lifting her voice.

“Mr. Rutledge!”

He called back from inside. “Yeah?”

“Did you find my glasses?”

A pause before he answered, a bit puzzled. “Your glasses? Aren’t you wearing them?”

“Ah…I think I must have dropped my other pair! I found them though, thanks!” With her eyes darting to and fro, she quickly went to sweep the concrete clean with her foot, scattering and scraping the petals into the grass and under the stairs. Again, she saw nothing strange, just the sights and sounds of the farm starting to wake up like it did every morning. The insects and birds were still singing, the tangled windchimes hanging on the sagging porch jangled, and further away, a goat bleated for its breakfast.

“Mei? Everything all right?” Mr. Rutledge called again. He must have heard her pause.

“Um. Yes! Sorry, just getting everything together!”

Carefully taking her newly-returned glasses and setting them just inside, she gathered up her canisters and notes again, her mind whirring as she trudged on towards the beehives. The insects buzzed around her, clinging to her netting and crawling around her suit as she began pumping in the smoke that would calm them. She just needed to check on their progress and take notes, which gave her time to ponder.

Maybe this went a little deeper than strangely-behaving bees and a field of odd flowers. And maybe she hadn’t just imagined that missing scarecrow from earlier. Twice now, she’d lost her nerve and been sent fleeing…only this time, it had followed her home. To offer her her missing glasses back? Did that mean it was friendly? Then again, hadn’t it attacked her? Or had it only moved her? Had she really seen it at all? Or…

So many questions. So many strange, strange questions. Though, as a scholar, she was used to having questions. That was one of the reasons she was here on this farm, after all, was doing her research and asking questions. Well, now she had more questions.

And just like a good student would, she intended to find the answers.

#meihem #junkmei #mei #mei-ling zhou #scarecrow #mako rutledge #farmer mako #scarecrow skin #farm au #Farming AU #story #writing #rewrite #strange honey

34 notes · View notes

firethebluesky · 6 years ago

Text

Sparring

The majority of the boat ride from Barnarock to Portia you spend talking Wuwa's ear off about your accomplishments in your hometown- how you won merit awards in school, how your engineering skills made you big money, how everyone called you the strongest woman in Barnarock. Wuwa said you'd be on the water for hours, and you have to occupy the time with something. He doesn't seem like the most talkative of folk, so you take it upon yourself to entertain both him and you. On and on you go, hour after hour of your achievements- there's just so many! You're beginning to think that Wuwa is getting sick of listening to your voice going on and on when he calls out to you.

"We're coming up on Portia!" He shouts up to you at the prow of the boat from the wheel, pointing beyond to the landmass ahead. The rolling green hills and sprawling farmlands seem to go on forever, only interrupted by a small town right in the center. Massive spires rise up above the town, reminiscent of times past and a world of long ago. You have to wonder just how many of those ruins are infested with monsters, and what sort of valuable materials you'll find within them. Wuwa keeps talking behind you, saying something about ruin diving, to which your ears perk up. Still daydreaming about the glory and grandeur you'll achieve when you come out of the ruins with your arms full of loot, you dreamily reply to him, mind on anything but the conversation.

The harbor is quickly approaching, you realize, but the boat is still traveling at an alarming speed. Wuwa must be a madman to come at the docks so fast. You grasp onto the rail is the boat as he steers into the bay, heart dropping to your stomach as he comes to a staggeringly quick halt next to the dock. You send a dirty look back at him for bringing you so close to death when you still have so much to live for and so much money to make.

You hop off the boat the minute it's tied, not wanting to spend another second on that death trap, but also to show Wuwa who's boss. But the instant your feet touch solid ground, you're nearly knocked off your feet with nausea. Your legs wobble in a valiant effort to stay upright, and you grasp at anything around you to keep you upright. Wuwa laughs at you as he nimbly leaps off the boat behind you, his portly figure rattling the wood to what send like the point of breaking. You remind yourself under your breath to fix the dock the next time you're here, otherwise, anyone might take an unfortunate tumble into the frigid water unexpectedly.

A few minutes of calming exercises and deep breathing later, you open your eyes to find a man with a very well manicured mustache waiting for you at the end of the dock. Legs still shaking, you stand carefully and walk over to him. He introduces himself to you as Presley, and the name stirs up memories of old black and white photos on the walls of your old home. Presley leads you away from the water towards a dirt road leading up the small town you noticed on your entry. A short lane lined with rickety buildings comprises the Portia Harbor. It seems deserted, save for Wuwa, who had seemingly disappeared, Presley, and yourself.

As you're walking down the road parallel to the water, listening to Presley chat about market rates and telesis, a thunderous sound takes your attention. You throw your gaze up to the sky, looking for the black clouds that indicate a nearing storm, but find none. You're about to tap Presley on the shoulder and ask if invisible thunderstorms are common in Portia when you notice a growing dust cloud behind a hill. From behind the hill, three shapes come into focus: a girl with blond hair and a pink jacket, a man with bright green hair, and another man with red hair and a vibrant blue scarf round his neck. All three are on horseback, coming closer by the second. The girl and the green haired man seem to be racing each other, judging by their speed and the smiling jeers they send at each other. The red-headed man lags behind, taking up a more conservative and comfortable pace. The girl and man roar past you and Presley, barely taking the time to steer around you. You throw yourself onto the grass on the side of the road to avoid being trampled. Presley does no such thing, simply stepping to the side and watching as they race by. The third rider stops next to Presley, glancing once at you as you pick yourself up off the ground. They engage in a quick conversation, then he rides off without a second look at you.

"How rude!" You say to Presley as you once again start your trek up to town. "He didn't even offer to help me up! Does everyone in town treat newcomers with such disdain? If they do, I can't imagine I'll be wanting to stay here very long!"

Presley laughs gently, smiling across at you. You're just slightly taller than him, and you used that stature to your advantage, straightening up to look more imposing.

"That's just Arlo." Presley looks on down the road, where the girl is triumphantly pumping her fists in the air in victory. The green haired one looks like he's taking the loss well with a wide grin on his face. Arlo rides up next to them and leads them on, heading off towards the waterfalls. "He's not usually like that, but he can be known to be a bit... single-minded when it comes to work." The two of you take a left at the fork, heading towards the gates, leaving the water at your backs. "A new group of Illusion Bunnies has sprung up on the west side of town, apparently, and the panbat infestation on the east wall is only getting worse. The Civil Corps has their work cut out for them."

You take in this new information as Presley leads you to a dilapidated building outside the city walls. He introduces it to you as your "new workshop", but the place is nowhere near new. The door looks like it's nearly off its hinges, and the fence couldn't even keep out a slight breeze. The whole place looks like it's about to fall apart. For all the talking you did about your abilities, you have a hard time picturing yourself ever getting the place back to its former glory. Presley hands you a letter, the script you recognize as your Pa's. You skim it briefly, not really bothering to read it. As far as you're concerned, your father is dead.

Presley leaves you standing there in front of the workshop, with instructions to meet him at somewhere called the Commerce Guild in Peach Plaza the next day. Such a tacky name, you think. In Barnarock, things are so much classier. And cleaner, after a quick look at the rot and mold accumulating within the walls of your new home. You quickly shred up the letter in your hands and toss in on the ground, promising to clean it up later once you've found a proper trash receptacle.

A wave of nausea hits you hard, doubling you over with pain in your stomach. Leaning against the wall, you empty the contents of your lunch onto the ground, before stumbling inside and collapsing on your bed, curled up.

You spend the night in and out of sleep, tossing and turning uncomfortably as draft after draft courses through the house, creating shrill whistles and deep moans that keep you awake. The thin blanket covering you does nothing to keep out the cool of the night. When you wake up, stepping outside to feel the eastern sunrise on your face, you resolve the first thing you'll do in Portia is fix those big gaps in the floor.

After dressing in yesterday's outfit, you head up to the Commerce Guild right as it opens at eight. Presley is there, waiting for you, along with some pink haired teenager who's clearly quite fashionable. Deep down, you're mildly impressed. Presley instructs you to make an axe and pick as your builder's test. Wuwa must have told Presley about you, because he cuts you off as you open your mouth to complain that you don't need a test to prove yourself. Deflated, you exit the Commerce Guild and set off into the sparse woods outside the wall, collecting sticks and rocks off the ground. You find the worktable in your yard, right where Presley said it would be, and start to fashion a very rudimentary axe and pick. Your work is really quite sloppy, and you berate yourself for not taking better care with your work. But this backwards town wouldn't notice if you built the best axe in the world, and most certainly wouldn’t the absolutely incorrigible job you did binding the axe head to the handle. So you bring it to Presley, who's chilling outside a small cafe. He barely even looks at the work you did before sending you off on another task, this time to build a stone furnace. You walk off, laughing quietly. You probably could’ve handed him an elastic arm stretcher and he’d think it was an axe.

Instead of working, you decide to take some time to explore around the town, and get to know the people you'll be sharing air with. Django introduces himself as a knight, which you scoff at. What's a knight doing running a restaurant? Sonya's voice gets on your nerves, Alice is too soft-spoken for your liking, and Martha can't and won’t stop going on about her son, Toby, and how stressed he makes her. Honestly, who cares? Really, the only interesting person you meet is Oaks, who is clearly the town lunatic. Who else would dress up as a bear and dig through the trash for food?

Central Plaza is bustling with people walking through as you enter. Buildings surround a large tree in the center of the area, casting some cooling shade on the people exercising under it. You're taking in the buildings around you when someone bumps into you, knocking you down to the ground. There's a flash of red and blue in the corner of your eye as a hand reaches down to help you up. Brushing yourself off, you notice the wall you hit was none other than Arlo himself. He looks down on you with disdain in his face, as if it's your fault he bumped into you.

"Look where you're going," You sneer up at your assailant. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to knock people over? And you'd think a member of the local Civil Corps would be just a tad bit more courteous." Arlo just stares at you with that same deadpan look in his eyes.

"It wouldn't kill you to be just a little bit nicer." You continue, not noticing how Arlo is clenching his fist in anger. "People would actually want to talk to you then."

Arlo scoffs at you. "And yet here we are. Talking."

"Don't confuse wanting and needing." You hope that crossing your arms and widening your stance presents a stronger and more imposing appearance. "I'm still waiting for an apology, you know."

When Arlo doesn't give you one, you put your fists up in a fighting stance. "I'll spar you then." Arlo stands there, disbelief written all over his face. A small smirk appears in his mouth, and you can't help but be attracted to the way his mouth moves. You also notice the well-manicured goatee he sports, one you hadn't noticed the first time you looked. The more you look, the more attracted you become.

What am I doing? You think, and in response, shake your head to clear it and tighten your fighting stance.

"Are you scared?" The jeer comes out sharper than you expected. But you're on a roll and you can't stop now. "I bet you're scared! That's why you're just standing there, unwilling to fight me! You're scared to fight the-"

"-The strongest woman in Barnarock?" Arlo cuts you off, and you snap your head up, wondering how he knew- "Your 'title'? Wuwa told us all about your prior accomplishments at the Round Table last night." The word 'title' is heavily laced with sarcasm. "I know all about you. But trust me when I say that your efforts will be fruitless. I don't make it a habit of sparring people who aren't the same level as me." He finishes.

You're not the kind of person to let your honor go mocked, so you hit Arlo as hard as you can in the chest. You manage to get in a couple of punches before Arlo lashes out with a single punch to your jaw. You go down in an instant, the air completely knocked out of you as you hit the cobblestones. You lay there, starting up at the bluest sky you've ever seen, white spots fading in and out of your vision. Arlo appears over you, not offering his hand this time.

"I don't lose," he simply says before he walks off down the street, leaving you there to collect yourself. Two little girls over by a set of swings giggle at you behind their hands. They scamper away behind a tree when they notice you looking at them. You stick your tongue out at them as they disappear, sitting up and rubbing the back of your head as you do.

You watch Arlo walk up the stairs, heading further into town. He's got a slight swagger when he walks, and his hair swishes back and forth in the wind just so, and you can just imagine the hands that just knocked you down wrapped around yours as you stroll through town-

You're so screwed now. Ugh.

#my time at portia #arlo my time at portia #mtap #arlo is too good looking for his own good #and his quests later on are so cute #we all just need our own arlo #please lord please #my works

23 notes · View notes

spiteweaver · 7 years ago

Photo

previous | next

When strife knocked upon one’s door, the moon was a great comfort. There was something to be said of its inconstant nature; no matter how often it changed, it was still the moon, and the moon still rose each night to keep its weary vigil, in good times and in bad. It could be reshaped, cast into whatever form the universe willed, but it remained, in the end, the moon.

Tonight, it lay hidden behind dense cloud banks, which scored the sky in great, black lines. Its rays filtered down only sparsely, and cast the territory in an eerily pale half-light. Beneath this ghostly tint, the pines shifted restlessly, as if in a high wind.

In Dreamweaver’s den, Europa stilled. “It is as I feared.”

Across from them, Dreamweaver glanced up from the letter in their hands. There was no sender one untrained in secrecy could discern, but Dreamweaver treated it with gravity, so it must have been important--enough so for them to ignore a guest. “What did you say?” they asked. “Forgive my manners; do you need more tea?”

“No,” Europa replied, lifting a hand when Banrai moved to fetch the kettle. “I am sorry to have come at such an inopportune time, Dreamweaver. Only, I felt that this night may bring misfortune, and so I thought it wise to speak with you. The moon is obscured; it is an ill omen.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Dreamweaver pleaded, and finally set the letter aside. “We’ve had enough ill omens to last us, I think.”

Europa did not respond immediately. Their gaze had been drawn to the window, to the purplish clouds beyond it, hovering so menacingly over their beloved moon. “It has been many eons since I last glimpsed clouds so vicious,” they murmured. “A rain spirit has come to your lands.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Banrai asked, glancing between the two. “Spring will be here soon. We’ll need strong rains for the farmlands.”

“There are good rains,” Europa said, “and there are bad rains. This is--”

The distant clamor rising endlessly out of the woods ceased abruptly, and Europa got quickly to their feet. Dreamweaver followed suit, but reclaimed their seat when Europa gave a stiff shake of their head. Tentatively, they approached the window, and peered out into the midnight gloom.

A fine grey fog had rolled in off the sea, climbing the hills with unnatural speed. The lights of the village blinked out one by one, choked by mist, and they were plunged into a deeper dark. Europa let out a low, quiet hiss. “Fetch your children,” they instructed, “and do not leave your home.”

“Europa, what--?”

“Quiet. Listen.”

In the dead silence, there arose a single, wavering noise: a humming that sounded like it was being carried from a long way off. Then, presently, words joined the slow, methodical tune, and Dreamweaver felt their blood run cold.

“It’s a child,” they whispered. “Europa, there’s a child out there.”

“No,” Europa said, “there is a demon.”

Their form dissolved, and they were gone, darting between pools of moonlight in their pursuit of that far-off voice. Several times, they drew near, only for it to dance away from them again. Behind them, they could hear Dreamweaver shouting from their window into the night--but Banrai must have pulled them back, because soon, Europa could hear nothing but the spirit’s melody.

“Sakura, sakura...”

“A snake with shimmering scales remains a snake.”

Europa solidified. They were in a familiar clearing; if they walked just a few yards to the west, they would come upon Hugo’s land, and could smell the smoke from his chimney over the heady scent of the pines. It was dark beneath the boughs. Even their gaze, which could cut through night like the first rays of dawn, could not penetrate the hazy undergrowth.

“Show yourself,” they demanded.

“The moon has come out; I wonder if it chokes on the smoke.”

“It does no such thing. It rather enjoys the smell.”

A giggle erupted from the trees, and the air around Europa flared with magic. However, even that was not enough to reveal their adversary. “Not that smoke,” the spirit jeered, “mine.”

“So those clouds are your doing?” Europa asked. “You are not welcome in these lands. Take your ‘smoke’ and leave.”

“Are you their master?” the spirit said. Though Europa could not see it, they could sense it clearly. It circled the clearing in a wide arc, pausing only occasionally to examine its prey more intently. “If you aren’t, what power do you have over them--or me? I think you’re just a nosy busybody who likes to play at being a god.”

The spirit stopped again, and Europa made their move. It was so imperceptible that not even the spirit, with its keen senses, could account for it; the slightest twitch of their little finger. With that, the moonlight they had been gathering since their arrival was freed all at once, illuminating the woods for miles ‘round with blinding radiance.

When the spirit came to its senses, it would find Europa staring down at it, their foot upon its chest and a smile upon their face. “I am not playing at being a god,” Europa said. “I am a god.”

The spirit’s youthful face twisted into a grimace. Dreamweaver had been half right; it was a child, old by draconic standards, but young by its own people’s, with an appearance to match. Its dark hair and eyes spoke of Shadow ancestry, its clothes of the far-flung Windswept Plateau, but Europa knew better. It held no alignment or affinity, and was that much more treacherous for it.

“Name yourself,” Europa ordered. “I have captured you; name yourself.”

“Nagame,” the spirit spat.

“The Long Rain.” Europa dug their heel deeper into the spirit’s chest. “State your purpose in these lands, or I will kill you.”

“You couldn’t kill me if you wanted to,” the spirit, Nagame, replied haughtily. He promptly changed his tune when Europa began to call their magic back to them. “I-I’m a wanderer,” he stammered out. “I go where my whim takes me! That’s not a crime!”

“You bring disaster wherever you walk,” Europa accused. “You are a spirit of malcontent. You flood farmlands, swell rivers, and drown the innocent in your deluge. I know your name; I knew your predecessor, who possessed it before you.”

“You're the one who killed her?” Nagame snarled.

“I am,” Europa replied, “and I did so, because she killed many more. I am a Disciple of the Moon; it is my duty to see that lesser spirits and their ‘whims’ do not cause strife.”

For a brief moment, Nagame looked as if he may cry. Then he regained control of himself and cursed under his breath. “What do you want from me then?” he asked. “If you want me to leave, you have to let me go, idiot.”

“My,” Europa said, “you are still young, aren’t you? If you wish to be set free, perhaps you should speak to me with respect.”

“Respect is earned,” Nagame quipped.

“No matter.” Europa stepped back, but Nagame made no attempt to flee. They were watching him with their golden eyes; he was as trapped by their gaze as he had been by their foot. “I’ve changed my mind,” Europa informed. “You are Nagame’s replacement--”

“Son,” Nagame said, his hands grasping fistfuls of dew-laden grass, “I am her son.”

“She would not have called you such.”

“It doesn’t matter. That’s what I am.”

“Regardless,” Europa said, “you follow in her footsteps, and so I shall keep a close watch on you--and put your magic to some positive use.”

“You’re going to try to tame me?” Nagame gave a short, mirthless laugh. “You might manage killing me, but one cannot tame a storm.”

“Never you fear,” Europa replied, “I won’t be doing the taming.”

#flight rising #fr #zach writes #clan feldspar #feldspar lore #c: europa #c: nagame

19 notes · View notes

zoesmcsmstuff · 7 years ago

Note

What if Lukas' eyes slowly turned red as PAMA regained control?

(tbh with my headcanon PAMA is in Lukas’ head but she’s literally become a part of him at the back of his head and she doesn’t really have the desire to “take control” because she kind of already is in control but we can have PAMA taking control Intensely)Jesse was a little upset with Lukas. It was over a little thing, but he’d used up all the milk and he couldn’t have his tea earlier. He was just going to be passive aggressive until the shops opened and he could go get some more. Lukas was fast asleep in bed still, Jesse had gotten an early start. Lukas had been up late writing, as usual...“Ugh.” Jesse set his head down on the table before grabbed his wallet to start walking to Beacon Town. Better earlier than late.--Jesse went through the markets, hoping the local dairy farmer would be selling fresh milk today. It wasn’t going to be the freshest stuff, just the leftovers from the past few days. He huffed and rolled his eyes.While he was making his way through the markets, someone pushed their way through the crowds, wide eyed and panting. “Jesse--! Jesse! Hey!” It was a blonde girl, who keeled over as she reached him.“Hey, hey, what’s happening?” Jesse helped the poor girl up.“The-- the mine’s infested with zombies and lots and lots of monsters...” The girl panted, heaving for breath. “We can’t f-figure... out where they’re coming from...”“I’ll come help, don’t worry.” Jesse’s mind immediately snapped to what he needed to do, beginning to jog on the spot. “Lead the way...!”--What a DAY. It was night and Jesse had some milk, but he was quickly jogging home. He’d discovered one of the miners had opened up a dungeon and found multiple spawners by accident, causing the mine to be flooded with zombies. Destroying the spawners, closing up the tunnels to the dungeon rooms, and cleaning up everything had taken all day...He didn’t even leave a note for Lukas before he left, and he was a little worried. He wasn’t exactly mad anymore...He approached the house down the lit path, quickly rushing inside to drop the milk inside, calling out to Lukas.“I’m home!” He shouted, hoping to hear a rush of footsteps or something. But nothing but silence.Jesse felt a little worried. Did he go out somewhere looking for him? He put the milk and everything in the fridge before going outside, having heard some sounds.His eyes were drawn behind the house where there was a lot of light. He headed closer, seeing the large section of grass behind their house had been converted into farmland, surrounded by a fence, and lit by torches. Rows of wheat with water running between them. Did Lukas make all this in one day?Jesse saw movement on the field and spotted Lukas kneeling in the dirt by the edge of a fence on the other side of the field, just sowing some seeds.“Hey, Lukas!” Jesse ran over to the fence where he was with a big grin on his face. “I’m sorry I had to leave so early-”Lukas was just staring down at his work, doing it with a careful but swift precision. All the seeds were carefully aligned…Lukas remained silent as he planted each seed carefully, but with a surprising speed. Jesse blinked and tried calling his name."Lukas...?"Lukas didn't respond. He didn't even flinch for a moment."Look, I'm sorry I just had to leave, I..." He trailed off as Lukas just didn't respond.“Come on..." He reached down and placed a hand on his shoulder.Lukas didn't respond, acting as if his hand wasn't there."Are you okay...?"Yet again, no response. Jesse tried to grab his arm. "Listen to me."Lukas froze and quickly twisted his arm off. Something was seriously wrong.Jesse took a few steps back and anxiously bit his lip, wondering what he'd done. Did something happen...?When Lukas got to the end of the row, he stood up and immediately stepped over the fence, making a straight line, walking past Jesse. His face was expressionless, but Jesse caught the deep dark rings under his eyes.Jesse walked alongside him, mumbling his name again. He let his hand brush against Lukas', but if he took it, he wouldn't even notice.He followed him right up to their room, just staying behind the door. Lukas wordlessly pulled the covers back, lay down, and pulled them back over himself. He stared at the ceiling.Jesse crept closer, just laying beside him, on top of the covers. He tried to snuggle him as they usually did, but Lukas didn't budge. His eyes just shut.A part of him felt like he was still going to be like this when he woke up. He too was exhausted and felt hot ears in his eyes, although he got up and grabbed a chair and some rope. When Lukas woke up that morning, he could try putting him on the spot and talking to him.Jesse didn't have much experience in tying ropes, but he'd sat Lukas, fast asleep, on a chair at the side of the room, grabbed some ropes and tried to loop them around him a few times, binding his arms to his side and tying the ropes at the back.He took a few steps back, seeing the poor man was leaning to the left a lot, his head drooping slightly. Jesse decided that was the best he could do and went to curl up alone in the cold bed.--When Jesse awoke, the sun was just breaking over the horizon. He and Lukas had built a window in their room for the purpose of waking them up every sunrise. Jesse squinted as the sun entered the room, being woken up gently. Morning. Much better than an alarm clock, Lukas had said.Wait, Lukas.Jesse sat up immediately, his eyes going to the chair. He felt his heart jump a little once he saw Lukas staring at him expressionless, but wide awake from his chair."Lukas--!" Jesse called, immediately shooting up from bed, going over to him with a big grin. "How are you feeling?""Could you please untie me?" Lukas asked, his eyes still blank. His voice was still a relative monotone."Actually, I just want to know what happened last night." Jesse folded his arms. "I mean, not responding to me talking or anything.""I was busy." Lukas replied, a short and vague answer. "You... you aren't mad or anything, are you?" Jesse still felt a little guilty about that."Of course I'm not mad." Lukas squirmed against the ropes. "Please release me...""Just because you were busy doesn't mean you had to ignore me..." Jesse's voice went a bit quiet."You were disrupting what I was doing. I could not have my productivity interrupted.""Lukas..." Jesse tapped his foot."I had planned perfect efficiency, and conversation was not part of the plan." Lukas spoke, seemingly without a hint of emotion.Jesse had seen Lukas go pretty deep into his efficiency mode. Staying up late writing, doing work around the house at utmost productivity, making dinner quickly as possible… but he hadn't ever seen him this deep in it.“How are you feeling now, Lukas?” Jesse asked, folding his arms.“I need to tend to the plants immediately.” Lukas replied, staring up at him.“You don't have to right now…”“It's what's most efficient, Jesse.” Lukas sort of glared. The glare surprised Jesse a bit, an actual expression!Jesse went to the closet, pulling out a journal. “It's your old journal, remember this?” He sat down on the bed, opening the pages, before deciding to lay down as he read it out loud.“I'm trapped in this mansion with a sea of zombies outside, a killer on the loose among us, and death traps at every corner. I don't know if I'll make it out alive but I found this empty journal so I'm writing the events of what's currently happening to keep calm.” Jesse read, watching Lukas struggle against the ropes.“Let me… go.” Lukas hissed, squirming.Jesse read on through the book. He was going to draw Lukas back out with this somehow.After half an hour of reading, he noticed Lukas had stopped struggling against the ropes. He just listened, still mostly blank faced.Lukas eventually just listened politely as Jesse read their experiences they had out loud to him, although eventually the journal came to the place where it ended.Jesse closed it with a fond smile. Although this thing would never be published, he felt it was just as special as everything else he'd written. “Feeling any better?” He asked in a soft voice.Lukas seemed to perk up a bit, expression having returned slightly to his face. “A bit.” He cracked a tiny smile which faded after a second.Jesse swung his legs down to stand up, bending over a little by Lukas to kiss his forehead. Lukas didn't respond for a second before going quite pink and blinking twice.“How about I get the ropes off…?” Jesse felt a teensy bit bad about that, going behind him to untie the thick knot. Within a few seconds, the ropes fell down. “There.”Lukas got to his feet slowly, as if unsure. Where to now, exactly? He seemed a little confused.“I’ll get you something to eat…” Jesse took his hand and slowly pulled him out of the room. Lukas followed along, somewhat dazed.

9 notes · View notes